


Her Voice

by racheltheclumsy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A little, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Family Feels, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Marriage of Convenience, Mystery, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-War, Ravenclaw Reader, Romance, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, but thats not important to the story, maybe smut, mostly - Freeform, reader is a singer, we'll see
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:14:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28233744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/racheltheclumsy/pseuds/racheltheclumsy
Summary: “Wish, I’m not getting married, Buddy, remember? I’m destined to be an old maid.” Wishbone seemed to take offense at that for some reason, as if he knew his person was a catch. He nosed the paper open and placed his paw on another part.Ministry Matchmaking: Magically Find Your Match!It read.(Y/n) sighed and looked at the advert, the paper was from a year ago, and the program had been started a year after the end of the war. Many people, including (Y/n) had scoffed at the idea of a ministry sponsored marriage program when there had first been whispers of it.The ministry had been so desperate to try and get the population up after the war that they had considered many options, finally settling with this one. Financial perks for newlyweds, and a ministry sponsored matchmaking program.----Basically my take on the post-war arranged marriage trope with a side of magic and mystery!
Relationships: Fleur Delacour/Bill Weasley, George Weasley/Reader, George Weasley/You, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 18
Kudos: 55





	1. If Only

**Author's Note:**

> Hi There! I'll be honest, I haven't posted on here in so long, I've never posted a multi-chapter fic on here, and I have never posted a reader insert, so this is a lot of firsts for me! I adore George Weasley and I'm such a sucker for a good marriage of convenience fic, so I figured I might combine my favorite things! There are some surprises throughout, hope you like those too. Imma just be real, the main reason why I haven't ever posted a multi-chapter fic on here is because I'm always afraid I won't finish them, but I have a good feeling about this one and I think if I have y'all to keep me in check this might be my first ever completed multi-chapter fic. I can't promise regular updates but I do plan to finish this so just scream at me in comments if need be! As always, if I get something wrong or offend someone I'd be happy to fix it, just let me know what's up! Harry Potter belongs to Joanne. Trans rights are human rights, trans witches are witches. Okay. Thanks to HunnyBunchesXO for Beta-ing and for helping me sound less like a clueless American! EDIT: Rating changed to mature for strong language and potential smut.  
> Double Edit: If the whole "(Y/n)" thing bugs you there is a great chrome extension that allows you to sub in your name and specifics, or if you want to read it with an OC you can insert an OC of yours or a new one if you like! https://chrome.google.com/webstore/detail/interactivefics/pcpjpdomcbnlkbghmchnjgeejpdlonli?hl=en  
> I'm sorry it's not clickable I'm truly horrible with technology, it took me forever just to figure out how to do italics on AO3.  
> ALSO: This fic's title and chapters are inspired by the songs of The Little Mermaid stage musical. Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter tweaked as of 12/30/20 to fix a continuity error!

Just keep looking ahead, act like everything is completely normal, and you aren’t dragging a tree limb behind you.  
(Y/n) told herself as she walked the final stretch down the block to her house. She wasn’t sure why she was so concerned, no one ever noticed her. Thank goodness. Her mittened hands gripped the branch over her shoulder to the best of her ability, and she tried to ignore the awful sound the wood made against the pavement as she walked.  
A light powdering of snow began and her toes were growing numb inside of her unlined worn-out wellies. Finally, she reached her house, lugging the branch around the back and slipping quietly into the wards she had put up that morning. Quickly she took out her wand, and with a quick severing charm, sliced the branch into three large pieces, slicing them again lengthwise. She levitated them into the empty basket that sat on the back porch and then levitated the basket as a whole, trailing it behind her as she had done with the limb only moments before, into her house.  
She dropped the basket with a thud by the fireplace and quickly began placing kindling, in the form of old newspapers, and logs into it.  
“Incendio.” She said, pointing her wand at the kindling and then removing her outerwear. Hat, mittens, scarf, jacket, boots, all deposited on the floor. Something that had become a habit since she’d started living alone...or rather, since her house became empty. She scooted closer to the fireplace and took in as much heat as possible, rubbing her hands close to the flames to try and warm her stiff fingers. Warming charms were good, but they were nothing compared to the wonderful heat from a fire...like the difference between sugar and aspartame. Sure it was sweet, but there was something off.  
After she’d been thoroughly heated she set a small saucepan on the rack in the fireplace, something she’d hastily installed a few years ago, and poured a tin of soup into it. When the soup began to bubble she took it off the fire and began to eat right out of the pot, placing it on a trivet that was on the coffee table for exactly this purpose, and summoning a spoon from the kitchen. With her back facing the warm fire, and hot soup in front of her, finally, warm, (Y/n) wondered how she would proceed.  
The house was going to be foreclosed on.  
She couldn’t afford the mortgage her parents had left behind, nor could she afford utilities, no gas, no electricity, just water, hence the fire. Many old English houses were heated by fire alone, hell, all of Hogwarts was heated by fire, but this house was new. It wasn’t built to stay warm without central heat. The rest of the house was freezing. She couldn’t keep living like this, but she could barely afford what she had with her meager shop wages, she was barely qualified for anything in the muggle world.  
She cast a glance over to the couch, now a makeshift bed, her crup curled up at the foot, respectfully on top of the blankets.  
“What am I going to do Wishbone?” She asked the beast. At the sound of his name he perked up and cocked his head at her, forked tail slapping against the couch in a slow wag.  
“C’mere.” She said with a smile. He left the couch and padded over, kissing her face wetly and causing her to let out a chuckle she hadn’t had in her moments ago. After his person had been sufficiently cheered up, according to him, Wishbone curled up in (Y/n)’s lap, and she was thankful for the comfort that her little friend provided. She tickled his head and he nudged her fingers with his nose to upgrade the tickle into a full-blown scratch. (Y/n) complied and Wishbone settled down again.  
(Y/n) sighed heavily and took in the state of the living room from her seat by the fireplace. It looked like it housed a squatter, though she supposed she almost was one. Couch-bed, cups and bowls strewn about, saucepan with a spoon in it on the coffee table, evidence of her depression meal, and a ripped bag of kibble in the corner, Wishbone’s bowls next to it.  
The animal seemed to be watching her closely now, taking in her expressions and cocking his head from side to side, as if that would help him understand.  
“Don’t worry about it buddy.” (Y/n) said and scratched his wiry head again. This didn’t appease Wishbone and he shook her off, closely appraising her face again, trying to come up with a solution. He gave a low “boof” and placed his little paw on (Y/n)’s chest, right next to the pendant of her necklace.  
“I can’t sell it.” She responded to him as if he had said something. “It’s all I have left of Mum.” She grabbed the large polished shell pendant as if Wishbone would try to take it from her. The doglike creature huffed and got off of her lap. He walked around the room for a bit before picking up an old issue of The Daily Prophet from (Y/n)’s kindling pile. He brought it over, dropped it in front of her, and smacked his paw down on where he wanted her to look.  
_Benefits Offered By Ministry to Those Getting Married_  
The article said.  
“Wish, I’m not getting married, Buddy, remember? I’m destined to be an old maid.” Wishbone seemed to take offense at that for some reason as if he knew his person was a catch. He nosed the paper open and placed his paw on another part.  
_Ministry Matchmaking: Magically Find Your Match!_  
It read.  
(Y/n) sighed and looked at the advert, the paper was from a year ago, and the program had been started a year after the end of the war. Many people, including (Y/n) had scoffed at the idea of a ministry sponsored marriage program when there had first been whispers of it.  
The ministry had been so desperate to try and get the population up after the war that they had considered many options, finally settling with this one. Financial perks for newlyweds, and a ministry sponsored matchmaking program.  
(Y/n) had originally thought it was for sure a step in the wrong direction, once stating that arranged marriage is the antithesis of romance. Of course, she’d been talking out of her arse, some Ravenclaw bullshit. What did she know of romance?  
Since then a few people she knew of had participated in it, and all of them had said it felt nothing like an arranged marriage. All of them were happy, saying it honestly felt more like a dating service.  
(Y/n) thought about it as she cleaned up a little and got ready for bed...or well...couch. She was holding out for romance. She kept telling herself it would happen, but as the years wore on she really began to doubt it. No romance during her years at Hogwarts, no romance since then. Of course, war and its aftermaths weren’t conducive to falling in love...but there wasn’t even anyone to fall in love with. It had been four years since (Y/n) had finished school, four since the end of the war. As she pulled on her flannel pajamas and thick socks, she sighed again and Wishbone seemed to roll his eyes at her.  
When she got in bed, couch, she reminded herself, she waited for Wishbone to curl up at her feet and then wrapped her arms around herself...feeling empty and alone. She hated sleeping alone…  
So maybe the matchmaking program wasn’t the worst idea.  
——------  
A letter, a trip to the public owlery, and a week later found (Y/n) at the Ministry in a room with a full face of makeup, wearing a dress she hadn’t worn since her school days, sitting amongst a bunch of other sad singles waiting for the matchmaking to begin. Apparently, the way this works is that they have a goblet, not unlike the one used for the Triwizard Tournament, but much smaller and with a different enchantment of course. Everyone put a slip of paper with their name on it in the goblet when they came into the room and then took a seat.  
(Y/n)’s stomach dropped at looking around, there were a lot of good-looking young women, and barely any good looking young men, still she sat and took a deep breath. There were a few people that (Y/n) recognized, though of course, they didn’t recognize her. Still, it was a relief to know that she wasn’t alone in her decision.  
Two older witches who looked exactly as one might imagine matchmakers to look walked up to the goblet and gave a short speech, assuring the participants that it was by no means random and that the magic of the cup took into account many things.  
“After your names are drawn you will speak with your matches, truly see if you are compatible, and agree to any terms your partnership will have.” The shorter of the two witches said,  
“If you both agree to the match then you will be considered engaged when you leave this room. You will be expected to marry within the year.” The taller one added, smiling, and with that, they began drawing names. Two names would be spit out by the cup, and that was a match.  
(Y/n) couldn’t be bothered to continue listening as the event proceeded, a pair would be drawn, they would walk up to the matchmakers, and receive an assigned place to talk.  
“(Y/n) (Y/l/n) and…” the Witch drawing the names said and (Y/n) suddenly broke into a cold sweat, she was about to hear the name of her match.  
“George Weasly.” She stated.  
In the sea of sitting people, two stood to walk to the front. (Y/n) walked and swiveled her head for that familiar shock of red hair she knew was synonymous with the name “Weasley”. One row away and walking just a little behind her, was George. He was tall and lithe, (Y/n) could not make every detail out but from what she remembered in school, he was handsome alright, with his ginger hair, sculpted, yet slightly rugged features, and light brown eyes always alight with mischief.  
They approached the matchmakers to get their assigned spot, and as they did so drew closer together, walking towards the witch who had called their names until they were face to face. Before the witch could say anything George turned to (Y/n) and stuck his hand in her direction.  
“It’s nice to meet you.” He said with a smile that seemed practiced. A beat of silence passed, (Y/n) didn’t know what to say...something polite probably, but old habits die hard, and before she could stop herself she had replied with,  
“Um, went to school together.”


	2. Somewhere She Is Singing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting Chapter two the same day as posting this fic! Again, thanks to HunnyBunchesXO for Beta-ing!

It had seemed preposterous at first, matchmaking? George had scoffed at the idea as his Mum and Sister looked at him with worried eyes.  
“We just don’t want you to be alone,” Ginny said with a concerned look, nervously toying with her engagement ring.  
“I’m not alone,” George replied, “I have the shop, everyone in it.” He said, satisfied.  
“Dear boy,” Mum began with a sigh, “You need a person…someone who is yours and you are theirs.” She said as if he wasn’t aware of what they were talking about. It’s not that he objected to the idea, he was lonely, but he’d be damned before letting them know that.  
He’d made a go of it with Angelina, they grieved together, they were friends, but being together as a couple just felt wrong. He felt like he was stealing his brother’s girl, and she felt like she was trying to replace Fred. Something neither of them wanted. They’d agreed to part as friends of course, which left George alone.  
He’d taken to living back home at the Burrow. He wasn’t the kind of person who could live alone. The flat above the shop was relegated to storage. He needed chatter, other beings. Of course, the house wasn’t nearly as full as it used to be, Ron had moved in with Hermione when they got married of course, Percy had a bachelor pad in London, paid for with his ministry wages, Bill and Fleur were busy with Victoire and Louis, Charlie had his dragons of course, and so it was just he and Ginny...which was short-lived. She and Harry were going to get married next week...and George was going to be left alone with his Mum and Dad, like an only child. Not something he’d ever thought he’d feel like.  
Hence the conversation now. Ginny looking at him like he was a wounded bird, Mum looking at him like he was a kicked puppy.  
“Just consider it,” Mum said with finality before leaving. Ginny looked at him pointedly, her look said you have nothing to lose and he supposed she was right. He did have nothing to lose, and maybe it would turn out alright.  
—-  
He wrote the letter, and there he was in a room at the Ministry his Dad had said used to be used for lectures. They held these events rather often apparently, and he just so happened to catch one that same week. Mrs. Kempworth, the wife of one of the ministry workers, and her friend Mrs. O’Hara were in charge of the matchmaking. George had met them before, they were quite nice, Mrs. O’Hara had given him a sweet that tasted like coffee when he was young. Maybe that eased him a bit, if it did, he wouldn’t tell anyone. After putting his name in the cup at the front he sat and waited for the event to begin. There were a few people he recognized from school. Neville, for one.  
He listened to Mrs. Kempworth explain the technicalities of it all, and waited with bated breath. He smiled when Neville was paired with Hannah Abbot. She was a sweet girl and although George never would have thought of them together they did have corresponding personalities and made a handsome couple. That put him at ease a bit more. Maybe this would be okay.  
He sat back a little and thought about how he’d probably be paired with someone from school too, and wondered who it might be. He scanned the group of people. There were a few familiar faces, none he could see himself with though.  
“(Y/n) (Y/l/n) and...George Weasley.” Mrs. Kempworth said.  
That wasn’t a name he’d heard before. Interesting. He stood and walked towards the front of the room. The girl who he saw approaching him, who he could only assume was (Y/n), was pretty. Not in a stunning way that made people stop and look, but in a subtle way. She’d twisted her (h/c) hair into a loose knot at the base of her neck and a few loose strands escaped and framed her face. Thick dark lashes fluttered over (e/c) eyes and she was wearing red lipstick on her full lips. She was, upon looking at her, quite pretty actually, and if she had been paired with him then there must be a reason. He smiled and decided to put his best foot forward. To actually give it a go. When he approached her, and before Mrs. Kempworth could tell them where they would go and talk, he extended his hand and gave a friendly “It’s nice to meet you.” He watched with dismay as the girl’s perfectly sculpted eyebrows lowered and her red lips parted slightly. There was a beat of silence while she looked at him like that, before she finally responded.  
“Um, we went to school together.”  
Brilliant.


	3. What Is It About Her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has occurred to me that this fic might have been a bit of a bummer thus far but I promise it'll be fun and sweet from here out!

The walk to the small table they had been assigned seemed to last ages, although in reality, it was hardly a minute. They sat, staring at one another, George was puzzled, what was it about her that was so wonderfully _impossibly_ familiar? He realized his staring and silence could be seen as rude, but when he spoke her voice also entered the space.  
“I’m sorry.” They said simultaneously, catching each other by surprise.  
“I’ve never-“  
“I’m just-“  
They both started.  
“You go first,” George said, holding out a hand.  
“Oh. Uh. Okay.” (Y/n) started. “Well, I was just going to say that I’m sorry I was gruff, I have been trying to be less like that, but it was just an immediate reaction.” She finished, looking timid and guilty.  
“Oh, that’s okay, I’d react the same way if a schoolmate forgot me,” George replied.  
“But no one remembers me, don’t worry about it!” (Y/n) provided quickly.  
George was puzzled at that. Why would no one remember her? She seemed to read his confusion because she launched into an explanation.  
“I was just the worst when I was younger, didn’t make friends at Hogwarts, I spent all of my time on work or choir, I avoided people, I avoided fun, I had lunches with Professor Flitwick-“  
“Hang on, did you say you were in choir?” George asked, and suddenly it hit him. It was _her_.  
_“Forge, pass me the pumpkin pasties,” Fred said, George held the one he was munching on in his mouth and passed one to Fred.  
“Thanks,” Fred said, George bit the piece he’d been holding and finally spoke,  
“ ‘Welcome Gred.” He said through pasty, crumbs falling from his lips. This was a presentation night, spring and all that. It would be the choir, and they were assembling on the stairs in front of the high table. The hall quieted and Flitwick charmed the piano to begin. This was the upperclassman choir, George noted to himself, which was unusual, usually they start with the little ones so they can go to bed, but it looked as if they were skipping them altogether this time. George didn’t care all that much for these presentations, so he wasn’t listening attentively. The song went on, George doing what George does, messing around as quietly as possible when the world suddenly stopped.  
A high voice rang through the great hall, clear as a bell. _

“Of the sky of a tree called life,”

_George snapped his attention to the choir to see one girl standing slightly in front of the rest, a Ravenclaw fourth year._

“Which grows higher than the soul,” 

_She sang, eyes closed in rapturous enjoyment of the music, her vibrato floated through the air, and everyone seemed entranced by her,_

“Higher than the soul can hope, or mind can hide…” 

_And like that it was over. She was enveloped into the choir, once again a part of a larger unit.  
—-  
That voice had left an impression. People talked about it for weeks, George included. Fred and Lee even made fun of him, saying he fancied the singer, he might’ve, but the truth was, he couldn’t even recall what she looked like. Oddly, neither could anyone else. No one knew who she was, nor her name, nor her year or house.  
“That’s odd.” George though, he specifically remembered noting her year and house, but for some reason couldn’t remember what they were. It was like she had vanished into thin air. Nobody talked about her anymore, as if they’d forgotten about that voice completely, George might have as well, if it weren’t for the fact that he could still hear it ringing. In the hallways, in the classrooms, in the dorms, in his ears, in his head, in his dreams.  
Just her voice._  
“Of the sky of a tree called life, which grows higher than the soul, higher than the soul, can hope, or mind can hide.”  
_Ringing, ringing, ringing._

“It’s you!” He nearly shouted.  
“Me?” (Y/n) asked, puzzlement evident on her features.  
“You’re the singer!” He exclaimed.  
“I do sing...but…” She was interrupted by Mrs. O’Hara who was coming by with a trolley of tea and biscuits. All of the matches must have been made.  
“Don’t mind me!” The plump witch said as she placed the teacups, pot of tea, milk, sugar, and a plate of biscuits on their table before merrily rolling her trolley away.  
George leaned over the table and looked around as if checking that they were alone. He looked at (Y/n), wondering how he could ever forget her face, and hummed. The tune of her solo. He didn’t use the words, and he was in a totally different key, but recognition flitted across her features. She nodded and when the solo stopped she sang. Quietly, and not her solo, it must have been the choir’s part, but no less enchanting.  
_“And this is the wonder, the wonder, that is keeping the stars apart.”_  
She sang the few simple notes and watched as George was affected by her voice.  
“I remember you.” George smiled, astounded that he had been matched with the owner of the voice that had haunted him all those years ago.  
(Y/n) returned the smile and looked into his light brown eyes, happy to see them this close up instead of across the great hall. As if remembering at that moment why they were there (Y/n) took a deep breath and spoke,  
“So, marriage.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song with (Y/n)'s solo is "i carry your heart with me", a poem by e.e.cummings with the composition by Z.Randall Stroope. Give it a listen, it's a truly beautiful piece.


	4. It Feels So Light Here

“Marriage.” George parroted.   
“What kind of arrangement are you looking for?” (Y/n) asked as if it weren’t a loaded question.  
“Um,” George hesitated, he hadn’t thought about the fact that there were different types of marriages. “The normal sort I suppose?”  
“A full marriage? With all of the trimmings.” (Y/n) clarified and George blushed. He’d never heard someone make the word “trimmings” sound obscene, but somehow she did, and the raised eyebrow didn’t help.   
“Ye-,” his voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “Yes.” He said, with finality.   
“Well then there’s something you should know about me.” (Y/n) said, and George’s stomach dropped...his mind raced with possibilities, most completely dirty.   
“I’ve never done anything.” She blurted, “Never been in a relationship, never held hands with anyone, never been kissed, never fucked,” suddenly she stopped, picked up her teacup, and sipped as if it took concentration. She avoided his gaze and had turned bright red.   
Oh. That was unexpected. How odd for a girl so pretty. Though she had said she didn’t have friends, which was odd in itself but... He didn’t realize he hadn’t responded until she continued.  
“So, although I will um, perform my... _wifely duties_ ,” She blushed hard again, “I er, will be quite inexperienced.”   
“It’s okay.” George squeaked. “So why’d you choose matchmaking?” He asked, changing the topic.   
(Y/n) put down her tea and sighed.  
“I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a financial component.” She disclosed. “I’m about to lose my house.” She said, matter-of-factly.   
“Oh.” George deflated a little.  
“But no,” she continued. “I suppose I could’ve tried to find another solution but…” she paused for a moment and it seemed as if her thoughts were distant. “I’m tired of being alone.” It was a near whisper. “So tired of it, Wishbone is good company but he’s still just a crup.” She said with a smirk. That caused George to smile as well. There was a moment of silence, that for the first time that day _wasn’t_ awkward.   
“I just…” (Y/n) trailed off and looked at George. “I hate sleeping alone.”   
“God, me too.” The words were past his lips before he’d even realized it. They shared a smile and another one of those comfortable silences washed over them. George must have realized they were just staring at one another because he blushed and picked up a biscuit.   
“So, what do you think about timing?” He said casually, biscuit crumbs falling from his lips, causing (Y/n) to have to suppress a giggle, but seriousness returned to her face when she responded.   
“Well, I don’t think I can keep the house for much longer, so unless your family would be alright with us living together unmarried the wedding would have to be pretty soon.”   
“No, they would not be.” George chuckled but stopped when it looked like an idea struck him.  
“Maybe I can give you money to keep the house.” He said earnestly. “Maybe we could live in it.”   
(Y/n) seemed to think it over for a moment before giving a slight frown and a shake of the head.   
“No, it's in a muggle neighborhood, honestly I was going to sell it, and the sooner the better. I’ll put it on the market when I get back but the truth is it could take ages to sell and I really don’t want to live there anymore.” (Y/n) frowned. It seemed like there was more to it, but George didn't pry.   
“Should we plan for two months out then?” George asked and a bolt of nervousness hit (Y/n).   
“Sounds good to me,” she said with a bit of a shiver.   
“We can get the license on the way out of here today.” George supplied and (Y/n) nodded.   
“So, living arrangements?” (Y/n) asked.   
“I have a flat above my shop...would that be alright?” He asked, some nervousness seeping into his words, this was the first time she had mentioned the shop, and many girls he knew tended to hate the place.  
“Sounds perfect actually, I love your shop.” (Y/n) admitted with a grin. George gave a huge smile.   
“Honestly?” He asked, looking truly astounded.   
“Yeah, despite being a staunch rule-follower in school I've always thought your work was brilliant, even if it is used to cause mayhem.” (Y/n) said in a laughing tone.  
“Wow, maybe there is something to that matching goblet.” George leaned back in his chair, an astounded look on his face. (Y/n) laughed harder at that. “I got paired with a woman who loves my shop, who sings like a siren, and is beautiful to boot.”  
That stopped (Y/n) in her tracks.   
“You think I’m beautiful?” She said quietly.   
“Yeah,” George said as if it should be obvious.   
“Thank you,” (Y/n) blushed for the hundredth time that day.   
Another silence, not comfortable, not awkward, but heavy. George did think she was beautiful. When had that happened? Sure, it wasn’t the kind of beauty that slapped you in the face and rendered you speechless, but it was definitely there. The longer he looked at her the more he noticed, the slope of her nose, the size of her eyes, the curve of her red-painted lips, the way her hair was slightly unkempt in a way that made it sexy, yeah, she was beautiful.   
“My sister is getting married next week, and I wondered if you’d like to accompany me to the wedding.” He said quite suddenly.   
“Are you sure that’s quite proper?” (Y/n) asked with a frown.   
“My fiance accompanying me to my sister’s wedding? What could be more proper?” George laughed.   
A huge smile broke out on (Y/n)’s face.   
“What?” George asked,  
“Nothing, it's just that you called me your fiance. I’d love to accompany you then.” (Y/n) couldn’t have held back her smile if she had wanted to.   
“I’ll owl you with the details,” George said with a smile.   
“Perfect.” (Y/n) agreed.   
Having sorted out the important bits, they got up from their table, thanked the matchmakers, and headed to the marriage license office. They walked to the lift and by some odd miracle got it to themselves.   
“Hey (Y/n),” George said, an unmistakable twinkle in his eye,  
“Yeah?”   
“We left the room.” He said simply. Confusion twisted (Y/n)’s features and she seemed to ask _what the hell are you talking about_ with her very expressive eyebrows. “We’re officially engaged,” he said simply. (Y/n) couldn’t help the girlish squeak of excitement that escaped her, nor the immediate embarrassment that followed. They giggled all the way to the marriage license office and kept making each other laugh throughout the process, the administrator ignoring their antics.   
As they left the office their fingers were intertwined. They seemed to realize that this was where they would part ways and the mood shifted considerably. They slowed their walk to the floo network as if those meager seconds would be enough. How odd, two hours ago they hadn’t known each other at all, and now each did not want to leave the other’s side.   
“I’ll owl you okay?” George said as they walked.  
“I’ll get my house on the market right away.” (Y/n) offered in return. They stopped in front of the floos. (Y/n) was about to turn and walk into one but was pulled back by George, their hands still tangled together. She stumbled back and caught herself against him, her hand on his chest and his hands automatically wrapping around her waist. She could feel his heartbeat, his heat, under her palm, and his fingers twitched against the thin fabric of her dress at her waist. Their breathing grew heavy and (Y/n) looked up into George’s eyes. This close they were less brown and more like smoldering embers...they certainly set her aflame. He must have been finding just as much fascination in her eyes because his were boring into hers. They continued to stare at each other, and slowly, ever so slowly, their faces grew closer and closer. Their lips were only an inch apart when suddenly,  
“Another successful matchmaking day!” A witch who looked to be older than time squeaked as she walked past, and (Y/n) and George jumped apart, faces burning. The old witch chuckled and hobbled on her way.   
“I’ll owl you.”  
“And I’ll sell my house.” They said at the same time.   
“Goodbye!”   
With that (Y/n) stepped into the green flames and tumbled into her living room, her knee hitting loudly against the coffee table and startling Wishbone from his nap. The crup jumped up with a startled bark but relaxed when he realized it was only his person.   
“Wish, you’ll never believe the day I just had.”   
An Owl with an invitation to the wedding of Ginerva Weasley and Harry Potter arrived that evening. 


	5. Oh, What I Would Give

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I've been hitting you guys with the chapters like crazy, but I might try to get some semblance of a posting schedule! I'm thinking maybe Thursdays? Also, I have tweaked the first chapter to fix a continuity error! Hope you guys like it! Remember, don't be afraid to comment and subscribe! I thrive off of feedback!

George was happy to see that when (Y/n) sent Errol back she had given him a note, not only confirming that she would be at the wedding but also informing George that she had put her house on the market and had already booked a showing for the upcoming Tuesday. So when Tuesday arrived and George received an owl from the public owlery, clutching a note from (Y/n), his heart dropped. He took the letter and the owl left, obviously having been paid by (Y/n). He walked to the living room and hastily opened the letter.

_George,_

_The showing went very well. So well in fact that the people I showed it to, a lovely couple from New York, bought the house! There is a problem though. They wanted to move in this week but I managed to negotiate it for two weeks. That was their stipulation for buying the house at the listed price, so it’s in writing, and I signed. I am so sorry to be a burden, but I am not sure what to do, short of staying in a hotel until we marry._

_Yours,_

_(Y/n)_

George blinked a couple of times at this revelation but quickly ran to find Molly. 

“Mum?” He shouted as he ran to the kitchen. 

“What is it, Georgie?” Molly asked as she finely sliced some white onions, a bubblehead charm protecting her eyes from the onion’s famous fumes and causing her voice to have a slight echo. 

“(Y/n) has sold her house but the new owners want to move in two weeks.” He blurted, standing far enough away as to not be affected by the strong-smelling root vegetable. 

“Oh, that is a problem,” Molly said as she picked up the sliced onions with the side of her knife and dropped them into a pot, quickly popping her bubblehead charm as she did so. 

“I was wondering, rather than trying to find her lodgings somewhere, or _here_ , for goodness sakes, we might just get married next week and move into the flat.” 

“Next week?” Molly shrieked, dropping the basket of mushrooms she had been bringing to the counter. “Do you have any idea the planning that goes into a wedding, dear boy?” Molly said with a snip, pulling out her wand and gathering the mushrooms from the floor and hitting them with a quick cleaning charm on their way back to the basket. “Planning a wedding is complicated, and we’ve got one this weekend for Godric’s sake!” She tapped her knife twice on the butcher-block before ragefully chopping the mushrooms. 

“It doesn’t have to be complicated though! What about a simple ministry wedding with a small dinner afterward?” George said, grabbing the butter keeper, opening it, and sliding a glob of it into the pot with the mushrooms and onions. This was a recipe he had helped his mum with many times and he knew it like the back of his hand. 

“Well, that would be possible,” Molly acquiesced,

“But what if (Y/n) wants a real wedding?” Molly stopped her frantic chopping and looked at George. 

“She’s not fussy,” George said, “besides I wanted to make sure it was a possibility before I offered it as an option.” He told her as she put the last of the mushrooms in the pot. He grabbed the pot and brought it over to the stove, putting it on the mid heat burner and grabbing a wooden spoon. 

“I suppose it’s fine,” Molly said as she grabbed jars of salt, pepper, and thyme. “But you must present all options to her, don’t make it seem like her only choice, she is the bride after all.” 

_Bride_

The word echoed in his head and he stopped his stirring of the mushrooms and onions for a moment. She was going to be his bride, his wife, and _soon,_ stranger yet, he felt their wedding couldn’t come soon enough. He took his hand off of the wooden spoon and felt the object in his pocket, a velvet box. 

“Either stir the mushroom or don’t but if you don’t want to please remove yourself from in front of them.” Molly broke through his thoughts. 

“Sorry, Mum,” George said, stepping away from the stove. “I’m going to go write to (Y/n).” He told her. 

“Go on then,” Molly told him, taking his place at the stove. 

George walked to his room, well, not his room. He’d been staying in Charlie’s old room. Even though it had been years he still couldn’t bring himself to stay in the old bedroom he’d shared with his twin. He’d go in there from time to time, remember the good times, but no, the majority of his time in the Burrow was now spent in Charlie’s room, or well, his room now. 

He entered the room and sat at the desk, thinking of the options he could present to (Y/n) and how he should do it. He picked up a quill and began to write.

_(Y/n),_

_Great work selling the house so quickly! I’m certain they were enticed not only by the house but by the lovely woman showing it._

_I have discussed it with Mum and there are a few options. The first being that you simply live here at the Burrow until we marry under the watchful eye of my mother, and another, of course, is the one you suggested, staying in a hotel. Of course, there is always a third option. We marry next week, that way we can simply move into the flat. The flat itself should only take a day or so to get ready, and, if you are alright with it, we could just have a simple Ministry wedding with a dinner afterward, something that only requires two days' notice to the ministry via owl. I have consulted with my Mum and she said it is feasible. Please take some time to think this over, consult your Mum and anyone you would like to be present, and then let me know how you want to proceed._

_Yours,_

_George_

_——-_

(Y/n) shook her head, was she seeing this right? Next week. Get married next week. It wasn’t a terrible idea, but how little they truly knew each other was glaring at her from the very same letter. How had it not come up that her parents were dead and gone? That any family she had left wanted nothing to do with her? 

She _wanted_ to marry George, and she wouldn’t mind marrying him next week, but marrying a man she just met, who knew nothing about her, went against everything she knew. With new resolve, she grabbed her parchment and quills, sitting at the coffee table, Wishbone curled at her side and Errol patiently looking over her shoulder.

_George,_

_I suppose it never came up when we were matched, but my parents were killed during the war. My mother was a half-blood and my father was a muggle. My brother_ is _a muggle. I am as half-blood as they come. I was at Hogwarts, and my brother was already at University in California. They are gone. I don’t have people. That being said, I don’t have any qualms over us marrying next week, in fact, I was going to suggest a ministry wedding myself. We can marry next week, under one condition. Your letter has made me realize how little I truly know of you, and you of me. We have to meet as often as possible this week, and we must share all we can with one another. You may set a date with the ministry and I will be there, but I plan on knowing the man I marry. Owl me when you are available so that we can really get to know each other._

_Yours,_

_(Y/n)_

She finished the letter and tied it to Errol who chittered at her and then took off. A wave of nervousness overtook her as she realized her letter might have been too curt, too insensitive.

“Damn.” She said to no one, she could be like a bull in a china shop at the worst of times. 

“C’mon, Wish,” the crup perked up his head from his spot on the couch. 

“Let’s go for a hike, Buddy.” (Y/n) said to her pet before grabbing his lead and clipping it to his collar. His forked tail wagged and (Y/n) held him under her arm like a rugby ball before leaving the wards and apparating away. 

——

When she returned two hours later, rosy-cheeked, out of breath, a muddy-pawed Wishbone under her arm, she was greeted by a tiny owl sitting on her windowsill, holding a letter that looked comically large in its grip. 

She vanished the mud from Wishbone before setting him down on the ground and pointed a quick _aguamente_ at his water bowl before walking up to the tiny owl and opening the letter.

_(Y/n),_

_Don’t mind Pigwidgeon, he’s my brother’s owl who he so generously loaned me to send this. I wanted to send a response right away and I couldn’t ask Errol to go back out._

_Please meet me for dinner tonight, at 7 pm, at the bistro across from my shop._

_Yours,_

_George_

(Y/n) put down the letter and looked at the clock. It was 5:30. She’d have to hurry.


	6. Notice How I Ache Behind My Smile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SIKE. I am not going to wait to post on Thursdays or what have you. My new rule I have decided is that I will post a chapter once I have written the next one which pretty much happens when I am feeling inspired and I am feeling inspired when I get feedback of any sort from yall. SO if you want more, faster, you must feed the beast that is my ego. Kidding, just tell me what you thought, what you liked, what made you squee, all that. Hope you like it! Also, subscribe!

It was 6:50 when (Y/n) apparated to Diagon Alley and walked to the bistro. She was used to the way people acted around her, their gazes sliding right past her as if she weren’t there at all, but it still felt odd, especially given her fully made-up face and the daringly low neckline of her blouse. She wasn’t blind, she knew she looked good, it was just always somewhat novel to her that she still managed to go completely unnoticed, unless, of course, she was singing, in which case people flocked to her like nifflers to gold, but they would still forget her shortly after. 

She was broken out of her thoughts when she saw George leave his shop and lock up for the night. 

“Hey!” She shouted to him.

“(Y/n)!” He seemed genuinely excited to see her and she couldn’t help but blush when she saw how he fumbled as he tried to make the process of locking up the shop go faster.

They walked up to the bistro at the same time and George entwined his fingers with (Y/n)’s as he explained that Tuesdays were actually usually his day off but he’d decided to check in on the shop before closing time.

“Weasley.” He told the hostess at the front of the restaurant. She nodded and picked up two menus before leading them to a table that already had a bottle of champagne sitting on it, clearly enchanted to stay cool if the condensation on the glass was anything to go by. 

(Y/n) looked around the restaurant, took in the rustic yet refined atmosphere, the white tablecloths, the woven chairs, the other witches and wizards who were there, and finally, at George, who was still wearing a three-piece suit from work. Suddenly she felt very underdressed. Yes, her blouse was nice, but she was wearing it with jeans. 

“This place is awfully nice.” (Y/n) said to George once the hostess had walked away. Before (Y/n) could realize what was happening George had wrapped his arms tightly around her. He held her like that, her arms trapped at her sides and the side of her face pressed against his chest. She could hear his heartbeat and feel his heat, suddenly a full body flush overtook her.  _ For Rowena’s sake am I actually that touch starved?  _ She thought, suddenly her silent revelations were interrupted. 

“I’m so sorry.” He whispered to her. A wave of confusion overtook her and she looked up at him with a furrow in her brow.

“What for?” She asked him, 

“Not knowing about your parents.” He replied. 

“Don’t be sorry for that,” (Y/n) told him, still trapped in his grasp. “How could you have known if I hadn’t told you?” She said simply.

“There is an undeniable logic to that,” George replied before releasing (Y/n) and sitting down at the table. She followed shortly after him. 

“Still, if I had known I never would have brought it up,” George said.

“Thank you.” (Y/n) said softly. 

“So you were at Hogwarts during the war?” George asked. 

“Yes,” (Y/n) seemed to shy away from his gaze at that moment. 

“That must have been awful,” George said and (Y/n) couldn’t stop her face from burning, and not in the good way either. Her eyes were hot and she knew that if she were to speak she wouldn't be able to hold back the tears. George took in her state.

“Sorry, I know we all have different ways of coping but for some reason, I constantly forget that most people prefer  _ not  _ to talk about it,” George said carefully.

“It's not that.” (Y/n) said, her skin afire, not with embarrassment, but with shame. “I was not brave during the battle, George.” (Y/n) told him, now looking into his sweet brown eyes, and knowing this would be the end of whatever it was that they’d had. 

“How do you mean?” George asked.

“I hid. I didn’t fight.” A tear dropped onto the back of (Y/n)’s hand and she quickly scrubbed it away. 

“Hey,” George grabbed (Y/n)’s hand and she looked up at him. “You were only seventeen, you’d just lost your parents.” He said to her. 

“Still, I should’ve…” (Y/n) started but was cut off. 

“None of that now,” George said. He took in her state and suddenly brightened. 

“I think we need something stronger than Champagne right now.” He said before flagging down a waitress. 

“Two firewhiskies on the rocks please,” he told her, “and we’ll have this later.” He said as he handed the bottle of champagne back to her. She smiled and took the Champagne away. 

“I know it can hurt, believe me, I do, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned it's that talking helps,” George said to (Y/n).

“I’m surprised you didn't drop me the moment I told you.” (Y/n) mumbled. 

“I know everyone had their reasons for doing what they did during that time, some good some bad.” He told her as the waitress came back with their firewhiskes and a set of appetizers. George politely thanked the waitress and then waited for her to leave before continuing. “So drink up,” He said, picking up his glass, “because I have a feeling that there is more to the story.” 

\-------

_ (Y/n) kept close to the end of the line of second years and a smattering of third years, making sure no one got left behind.  _

_ “Keep up, they’re breaking through now!” She shouted to them, the children looked up at her and then kept walking. “Come on, come on,” she said, funneling them all into the tunnel to Hogsmeade. She shook her head at the fact that kids older than second years were welcome to leave, but not required to, and she thought about all of the cocky and inexperienced third and fourth years who were likely to be killed. She sent a silent prayer up to whoever might be listening that they would make it through alright.  _

_ She stepped into the portrait hole after the last second year and the portrait swung closed. Suddenly they were thrown into darkness and the passageway was full of the terrified shrieks of eleven and twelve-year-olds.  _

“Lumos Maxima!” _ She said, but it was no use, the line was too long, the passage too narrow. The kids at the front had stopped moving and were likely terrified.  _

“Nox.”

_ She thought for a moment and then it hit her, the right memory.  _

“Expecto Patronum.”  _ She said as she waved her wand. Suddenly the passage was bathed in silver light, coming from her wand, and the corporeal Patronus she had only managed to cast on one other occasion, a siren, appeared.  _

_ “Tell the children to follow you to the end of the passage and keep walking.” She told the silver creature who swam through the air swiftly to the front of the line. After a moment the line began to move once more and a few third years helped light the way while she focused to keep her corporeal Patronus at the front of the line.  _ _  
_ _ Finally, there was a light at the end of the tunnel, and (Y/n) could see Aberforth and her siren ushering children into his inn.  _

_ When she finally got to the end of the passage her siren disappeared. She stepped through and watched as the children went into some sort of bunker, the entrance to which was a panel in the floor. Once the last one was in, (Y/n) turned around and was about to step back into the passageway.  _

_ “Wait, you can't leave me here with them!” Aberforth said suddenly.  _

_ “They’ll be alright.” She replied, making for the passageway again.  _

_ “I’m no nursemaid.” Aberforth pleaded.  _

_ (Y/n) stopped, thought for a moment, and then replied. _

_ “Very well.” She acquiesced before entering the bunker herself and being enveloped in darkness once more as Aberforth shut the hatch behind her. The bunker filled with shouts again and the five or so third and fourth years holding onto a Lumos didn't cut through the darkness nearly enough.  _

“Lumos Maxima!”

\----------

George looked stunned as he took in (Y/n)’s story. 

“You didn't run, you were asked to help.” He said to the woman crying in front of him. 

“I barely had to be asked.” She replied. “Aberforth didn't have to fight me to make me stay. I should've said no, I should've come running back, maybe then…” She stopped before she said something she would have regretted. 

George took her hand across the table. 

“Nothing will bring them back.” He said solemnly, and we can't live in the past. 

“I’m so sorry.” (Y/n) said, squeezing his hand and sniffling. 

“Oh, Godric, I’m such a mess.” She said as she wiped her eyes. Thank goodness for waterproof mascara. 

“It’s alright,” George said. “Was I the first person you ever told that?” 

“Yes.” She said.

“Promise me you’ll always tell me when something is bothering you, and I will promise to do the same.” He said. 

“Alright.” She nodded. 

George picked up his firewhiskey. “To new beginnings, given to us by our painful pasts.” He said, holding his glass up in a toast. (Y/n) held up her glass too, now just containing ice, and lightly clinked it against his. 


	7. One Step Closer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm bad. Sorry, this took so very long, to make up for it this is an extra-long chapter with some little treats in there.  
> Thanks to HunnyBunchesXO for being an awesome beta reader!

Things went oddly back to normal after that dinner. (Y/n) went home and began packing her house, and George was reclaiming the flat from storage and turning it into living space again, all of course while running the shop. 

Soon enough it was Saturday, and although George had been roped into helping organize things for his sister’s wedding, he couldn't help but think about his own wedding that following week. They had gotten an appointment at the ministry for Friday in the afternoon. It wouldn’t be glamorous but it would serve them alright. 

Ginny and Harry were also decidedly un-fussy, but since there had been time, and well, Molly and Fleur involved in the planning of this wedding, it would be a bigger event. Harry and Ginny would have the same tent that Bill and Fleur had, it would be at the burrow, and there would be dinner and dancing. 

In the room where Harry and his groomsmen were getting ready, George sat in an armchair, already dressed for the event and staring silently into space. 

“You alright George?” Ron asked his older brother suspiciously. 

“Yeah.” George snapped out of his fog. “Totally fine,” He faked. 

If he was being honest with himself, having that tent up, and everyone wearing their wedding finery, it completely set him on edge. Poor Bill and Fleur had forever had their wedding memories darkened by the war and the deaths and injuries sustained the night before it, but George wondered would he react to all weddings this way for the rest of his life? Maybe just the ones that resembled Bill and Fleur’s? He reached up and felt for an ear that he knew was no longer there before shuddering at a phantom pain and returning to the present, where he was down a brother. 

He sighed and looked up at Harry and Neville, both of whom were looking at him with big concerned eyes. 

“Stop that.” He muttered bitterly at them. 

“Why don’t you go and uh….” Ron trailed off, he obviously wanted George,  _ the buzzkill, _ out of the room where they were. Ron, it seemed, took his job as Best Man very seriously and wanted to keep the mood in the Groom’s party light. It seemed though he couldn't come up with something to get George out of the room. Ron’s salvation came in the form of a shout from downstairs. 

“George, (Y/n)’s here!” Arthur’s voice rang through the house. Ron let out an audible sigh of relief as George perked up a bit and walked out of the room. 

——

(Y/n) was nervous as she walked up to the front door of the Burrow. Her heels clicked against the cobbles and as she took in her surroundings she wondered if she might be overdressed. She was wearing the nicest dress she had, the one that she would’ve worn to the Yule Ball all those years ago had she been asked. 

It was a shimmering dark blue, strapless, tea-length, dress with a full skirt, and a black band at the waist. She wore it with black t-strap heels and a black taffeta wrap. Her hair was styled in a similar sweep to how she’d had it for the matchmaking event but she’d put just a little more attention to taming her frizz and flyaways. Sparkling moons and stars dangled from her ears and as always she wore her mother’s shell pendant. She clutched a black beaded purse in her sweaty, nervous fingers and continued her approach. 

“George, (Y/n)’s here!” 

She heard someone shout inside the house and a moment later George came through the front door. He was wearing one of his signature three-piece suits, but this one was a slightly finer fabric than the one he usually wore. The brightly patterned, open-collared shirt he wore with it made it a little more casual and fun, just like him. The lighthearted nature of the pattern was not reflected in his disposition at that moment. His shoulders were tense and he had a furrow in his brow. 

“Hi,” (Y/n) said carefully, and as if by magic, George’s shoulders seemed to loosen a bit and a small smile crept onto his face. 

“Hey,” he breathed out and smiled fully. He looked at her for a moment. “Wow.” He whispered as if it had just slipped out.

“You look…” he seemed to search for the correct word, “stunning.” 

(Y/n)’s eyebrows rose in surprise. She blushed hard and looked down at her shoes. 

“Thank you.” She said, although she looked at the ground as she did it. 

“You also look…” she looked at his face, now more relaxed and happy like she was used to, and her eyes snapped down to the open collar of his shirt for a moment.  _ So the freckles make it past the collarbone.  _ Her subconscious noted, and she immediately felt herself turn the color of a tomato. “...stunning.” She settled on returning his words. 

“Would you like to see the garden?” He asked her, almost as if he was coming up with the idea as he was saying it. 

“Sure.” (Y/n) replied timidly, and carefully took George’s arm when he offered it. It still felt odd for her to have  _ someone,  _ but a good odd no doubt. They walked around the back of the house and past the tent where the wedding would be, George, making note of it to her as they did so. He guided her around the perimeter of the garden and his hand rested atop her’s at his elbow. As he led her off of the cobbles and onto the grass she mentally patted herself on the back for having had the foresight to charm her shoes so that the heels would not sink into the soft earth. She looked at George, who although not as tense as moments ago, seemed to still have something on his mind. 

“Are you alright?” She asked him, stopping their slow walk so that she could look him in the eye. 

“Yeah,” he replied, reaching up to mess with his hair nervously. “Just didn’t think about how much this wedding would remind me of the war is all.” He said after seeming to debate internally. 

“Oh.” Was all (Y/n) could say, she didn’t know what else she  _ could  _ say. “Well, do you want to talk about it?” She asked, recalling that he had implied that his coping mechanism was sharing what was on his mind. 

“Yeah.” He said quietly, before leading them to a small bench at the other side of the garden. They sat and he held her hand that same way that he always did, with their fingers threaded together, and her heart melted a little bit. 

Then he started talking, and he was talking  _ fast.  _ She listened carefully as he told her everything _.  _ Bill and Fleur’s wedding, what happened before, what happened after, his fears regarding the fact that this was all coming up suddenly. She shivered, though she wasn’t sure if it was from his words or from the fact that the weather was still quite brisk and she had little more than a swath of taffeta to keep warm in her strapless dress. 

She listened intently to everything he was saying, and then as if being moved by someone other than herself, she placed her arm on his shoulder and began to lightly run the backs of her fingers along the side of his face into his hairline. The last of the tension finally left him as he told her everything and they sat silently for a moment. He leaned into her touch and his eyes fluttered. (Y/n) wasn’t cold anymore. George’s arm was wrapped around her waist, her face dangerously close to his, her fingers still toying with the bright hair at his temples, and she was practically in his lap.  _ When had that happened?  _

“Hem.” She cleared her throat and jumped back slightly. 

“Thank you for listening,” George said, sounding lighter than he had all day. 

“George, people are starting to arrive!” Fleur’s voice called from the tent where she had evidently been helping to get everything set up.

“Just a moment!” He called back. 

“We’d better…” (Y/n) started to get up and George began to follow. They were about to walk towards the tent when George stopped. 

“Oh hang on,” and (Y/n) turned towards him curiously. “I meant to give you this.” He said, pulling a small grey velvet box out of his jacket pocket. “Will you wear this please?” He asked, opening it and pushing it towards her to reveal a  _ ring. _

It was a moderately sized sapphire, delicately mounted on a thin gold band, tiny diamonds and seed pearls of different shapes flanked it on either side, creating a whimsical, yet beautiful  _ engagement ring.  _

“George?” (Y/n) puzzled.

“Yeah?” He responded quickly.

“This is an engagement ring.” She pointed dumbly.

“Yep.” He replied.

“Is it... _ my  _ engagement ring? _ ”  _ She pointed to herself sheepishly. 

“Yep.” He said again. 

“Oh wow.” (Y/n) felt her knees buckle beneath her and her palms go sweaty. She was completely awestruck. She stood staring at him holding out the ring. Everything was silent.

“You don’t like it, I’m sorry, I’ll have it remade…” George snapped the box closed and began to put it in his pocket, rambling. 

“George wait, wait, wait, you had it  _ custom made _ ?” She practically shouted, she felt like she was on fire and it was taking everything in her to not  _ launch herself at him.  _

“Yeah, but it’s alright, I’ll just…” He began but (Y/n) stopped him. 

“George, I love it.” She said, placing her hands on the sides of his face to catch his attention. 

“You do?” He asked in disbelief. 

“Yeah,  _ of course _ I do.” She said, trying to ignore the desperate crack that came through her voice. She cleared her throat. 

“I would be happy, and honored to wear it.” She said, and George opened the box again and slid the ring onto her finger. 

She couldn’t believe she had a ring on  _ her finger _ . 

“I know it’s not much,” George said, “There are no heirloom rings in my family, but Mum has a necklace that she was given as a wedding present, a pendant of six sapphires. One sapphire for each of the boys to use if they wanted it.” 

“George, it’s perfect.” (Y/n) said.

“George, (Y/n), are you coming? The Lovegoods are here!” Fleur’s voice called again. 

George and (Y/n) smiled at each other and he carefully threaded their fingers together, giving the ring a little touch and smiling. 

They walked to the tent and Fleur frantically introduced herself to (Y/n), she was wearing a grey chiffon dress that had a somewhat Grecian drape to it and her silvery hair was already slipping out of its updo.

“It is such a pleasure to meet you,” she said, clasping (Y/n)’s shoulder briefly. “I am sorry I cannot chat, I must check on the bride!” She exclaimed before directing George to tell people where to sit as they came, and she was gone in a flurry of her grey skirts.

“Hello, (Y/n), George,” An airy voice greeted, and (Y/n) smiled as Luna approached, she was wearing her bridesmaid dress which looked oddly subdued on her. “Hi Luna it’s so good to see you!” (Y/n) gave Luna a quick hug and George looked slightly surprised. 

“I like your ring,” Luna said without missing a beat, “I can tell it is full of love.” She smiled. (Y/n) and George both blushed and George cleared his throat a little. 

“Thank you –”

“Oh, thanks–” She and George both said at the same time,  _ busted.  _

“So you're engaged!” Luna’s father smiled as he walked up behind his daughter. “That's very nice to see.” 

“George, I am very happy you realized it was (Y/n)’s voice that you loved,” Luna looked at the pair of them with big, innocent eyes. “She’s very special,” she said with another pat to (Y/n)’s shoulder before she led her father to a seat in the middle back row and then went back to Ginny’s room so that she could enter with the bridal party. 

George and (Y/n) looked at each other confusedly for a moment. 

“How did she?” George started,

“I don’t know.” (Y/n) replied. 

More and more guests began to arrive and the sun was quickly getting low on the horizon. George pulled (Y/n) aside for a moment.

“I have to stand here and tell everyone where to sit, but go up to the front row and save a seat for me, okay?” He told her, giving her hand a squeeze. 

“But wait, the front row is for family.” (Y/n) stated. 

“Well, what do you think you are?” George chuckled, pointedly toying with the ring on her finger. “Oh.” She let out, and she couldn't help the giddy laugh that escaped her. “Okay.” She said, and before she could head to the front George quickly pulled her up to him and kissed her cheek. 

“See you in a tic.” He said, and with that (Y/n) walked to the front row and took a seat. 

\----

The ceremony went wonderfully well. Harry looked truly  _ happy  _ as he watched Ginny walk down the aisle, clad in her white satin dress, which was plain yet daring with its open back, crisscrossing straps, and tight cut. Molly and Fleur both cried, and though the boys tried to remain stoic, (Y/n) didn't miss the way that Ron kept sniffling very loudly and requiring pats on his shoulder from Neville, who was surprisingly holding up quite well. The proverbial belle of the ball was Teddy, Harry’s five-year-old godson, as the ring-bearer. The boy was a metamorphmagus, and as he was very little, couldn't control it yet. His hair was a brilliant light show of many colors as he carefully walked down the aisle, toying with the gold bands on the pillow in his hand and looking like he was doing his best to take his job very seriously. When he finally got to the bride and groom his hair became a copy of Harry’s and he stood next to his godfather, clearly proud. A few sobs erupted from the crowd at that and Ron had to sneakily wipe away his tears. George silently threaded his fingers through (Y/n)’s at this, again rubbing the back of the ring on her finger with his thumb. (Y/n) smiled and squeezed his hand in response. 

When the ceremony was over, and the officiant announced “I now pronounce you husband and wife”, and sparks showered down on the couple, the tent burst into activity and chatter. Congratulations were shouted and people applauded and howled like they were at a quidditch match. When Harry and Ginny left the tent everyone followed so that it could be reset for dinner and dancing. 

In a moment everyone was milling about and back into the tent, already fixed up for the evening’s festivities. Someone enchanted a few fiddles to start playing and people immediately took to the dance floor in a lively Scottish reel. (Y/n) didn’t know how to reel, so she happily stood to the side, smiling and clapping to the beat, along with a few others who were stymied by the classic dance. When the reel was over everyone took a seat at their tables and it felt  _ odd _ to be sitting with the family. On the one hand, she hadn’t met most of them, on the other, there was an energy amongst them that simply screamed  _ home.  _ (Y/n) of course, sat next to George, and on her other side must have been the elusive Charlie Weasley, her suspicions confirmed when he introduced himself. He was friendly and jolly, but everyone was tonight. Even the cloud that had hung over George for most of the day had dissipated. 

\-----

Speeches were given and tears were shed especially when Hagrid gave his speech, he kept stopping to blow his nose into a large spotted hanky. Another few dances, including the bride and groom’s first dance, were shared. Harry was an  _ awkward  _ dancer but Ginny guided him through it and the pair of them were laughing by the time it was over. Finally, dinner was served. The food was heavenly and (Y/n) was completely blown away to find out that Molly had cooked all of it herself. 

After dinner, the party truly began. The fiddles, reeling, country dances, and cotillions were put aside in favor of a free for all of curated dance, set to an assortment of popular tunes. Couples danced together but there were also groups and single people just enjoying the happy time. (Y/n) danced with George most of the time but she truly wasn’t a dancer. To George it seemed that she had begun to wilt somewhat, so he pulled her away from the dance floor and out of the tent. 

“Thought we could use some air!” He said, his hand embarrassingly sweaty in her grip, though she didn't seem to mind. 

“I must be a right mess!” (Y/n) said, running her hands over her hair which had mostly escaped its style. She pulled out her hairpins and let her wild hair tumble over her shoulders. 

Truthfully, she was a mess...and it was  _ sexy as hell.  _

Her eye makeup was smudged, framing her eyes and making her gaze somewhat sultry. Her cheeks were brightly flushed from dance and drink and the taffeta wrap she had worn before had been discarded, her shoulders exposed. Her shoes were nowhere to be found and she stood barefoot in the grass. She was obviously struggling with her strapless dress because she kept grabbing the top of it and yanking it upward, bringing certain  _ assets _ up with it. 

“You look gorgeous,” George said without thinking, his already hot face growing hotter. 

She looked down and laughed as if to disregard what he said. 

“You truly do!” He defended.

Unprompted, they surged at one another and her lips were immediately moving over his, hungrily pulling and nipping. His hands found her waist and she grabbed the hair at the back of his neck. She continued to nip and nibble and suddenly she  _ bit.  _

“Ouch,” George said, pulling back for a second to swipe a drop of blood off of his lip. 

“Oh my, I’m so sorry, George, I don’t know what came over me!” (Y/n) began to ramble. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said, carefully taking her hands. “Was that…”

“My first kiss? Yeah.” (Y/n) hung her head in shame. George placed his fingers under her chin and gently raised her face to him. 

“You just need a bit of practice is all.” He said quietly. (Y/n) didn’t even have time to blush at the implications of that before he leaned in and captured her lips in a tender kiss. The first one, despite being  _ hot,  _ was messy and rushed. This one was leisurely and sweet, as George took his time softly taking her lips in his again and again. Feeling slightly emboldened, he gently pushed his tongue into her mouth and was rewarded with hers meeting it. 

“Where’s, George, George?” Molly’s voice broke through and (Y/n) and George quickly separated. They looked at each other for a moment, still in their trance, his hands on her bare shoulders, and hers draped around his neck. 

There was some rustling behind the pair and a figure approached. 

“George, (Y/n)?” Bill called. They walked over to Bill who quickly informed them that it was about time to cut the cake. 

“We should go back in,” George said after Bill left. 

“Do we have to?” (Y/n) chuckled, but couldn’t help the shiver that overtook her. Barefoot and strapless in the winter. 

“You’re shivering,” George said, before taking off his jacket and placing it over her shoulders. 

She was slammed with a wall of emotion and couldn’t keep her eyes from welling over with tears. 

“What’s wrong?” George asked frantically,

“Nothing at all.” (Y/n) sobbed. “I just never thought I would have this.” She said as she scrubbed away her tears. 

George didn’t know what to say to that. Nothing seemed quite appropriate, so instead, he just wrapped his arms around her and held her. She nuzzled her face into his chest and took a deep breath. He smelled like cedar and fresh air and cinnamon and all things wonderful. 

“George?” A voice from inside the tent. “Come back right now or you forfeit cake!” Ginny said as she walked over to them, the hem of her dress in her grasp. She seemed to realize she had interrupted a tender moment at exactly the same time that (Y/n) pulled back from George. They all stood there for a moment staring at one another before (Y/n) smiled and clapped her hands once. 

“Let’s go have some cake then!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Y/n)'s engagement ring is based on the "Clara's Dream" ring by Sofia Zakia. Here is the link if yall are curious. 
> 
> https://www.catbirdnyc.com/clara-s-dream-sapphire-ring.html?utm_source=google_shopping&gclid=CjwKCAiAxp-ABhALEiwAXm6Iyb6ja4IX-GanWeN3_-aI0QW_NkihN5p4cxkghKZrg7Nhrd6ZqslbaxoCGnMQAvD_BwE
> 
> 2/18/21  
> I meant to attach this when I posted the chapter but here is a link for (Y/n)'s whole outfit!  
> https://shoplook.io/outfit-preview/2749181


	8. Her Song Is Meant For Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI. I'm very bad, I am sorry. I totally fell off the map and for that, I apologize. I will make my excuses in the notes at the end of the chapter but I want y'all to know that updates from now on will be pretty sporadic. Enjoy the chapter. ALSO if you love it leave a comment. Doesn't even have to be anything of substance. Leave a keysmash... just something letting me know I'm not just dropping these mothafuckas into the void.  
> EDIT: Decided to tack a last-minute bit to the end. Enjoy.

The morning after the wedding (Y/n) felt like she had just woken up from a wonderful dream. The only reason why she knew it  _ wasn't  _ a dream was that her dreams were never that good...and this had been really, really good. 

George was everything she’d dreamed of and more and she kept kicking herself that she hadn’t made an effort to talk to him (or anyone for that matter) in school and pinching herself that things worked out perfectly anyway. 

The Monday after Harry and Ginny’s wedding, and leading up to her own (something she still couldn't believe) she received a letter that she assumed would be from George, as it was being carried by Errol. When she opened it, however, she was surprised to see that it was from Molly.

_ Dear (Y/n),  _

_ If you are able, would you please join me and the girls for brunch this Wednesday at The Leaky Cauldron? I figured you should get to know your allies. _

_ Love, _

_ Molly _

(Y/n) smiled and quickly wrote a response affirming that she would be there. Errol took the note after getting up from Wishbone’s bed, where he had fallen when he first came crashing through the window and left. Wishbone let out a huff as if to say  _ good riddance  _ as Errol flew away. 

(Y/n) spent the next two days packing up her house and singing. Dancing her way from the top to the bottom of the place. Wishbone had no clue what to think, sometimes watching his human’s strange behavior from his perch on the couch, and sometimes joining in, prancing beside her, nipping at her ankles, and giving the occasional howl. 

Wednesday arrived and (Y/n) apparated to Diagon Alley for brunch at noon. 

She knew she would be meeting Molly, but she wasn't quite sure who was included in “the girls”. 

When she walked in she saw Molly seated at one of the larger tables with Hermione, ever punctual. 

“Hello, dear!” Molly exclaimed upon seeing (Y/n). (Y/n) replied with a hello of her own and smiled when Molly pulled her into a quick hug. 

“Fleur and Ginny are also coming, they are just running a bit late,” Molly told (Y/n).

“Speak of the devil,” Hermione said, as they turned to see Ginny walking up to them, her hair wild and her face un-made up. 

“Sorry, I had trouble getting away from training.” She breathed. (Y/n) wasn’t the only one confused by that if Hermione’s expression was anything to go by. Ginny sat down and they all stared at each other for a moment, Ginny grabbing a glass of water that had been on the table and gulping it down. Hermione exchanged a look with (Y/n) and they both looked at Ginny.

“Oh, I suppose I haven't told most people.” She seemed to realize as she said it. “I was just recruited to play for the Holyhead Harpies!” She said, a note of excitement detectable in her voice. 

“That’s wonderful!” 

“Wow, that’s amazing!” 

(Y/n) and Hermione said at the same time. 

Ginny gave a proud smile. 

“I'm sorry I am late,” The voice of Fleur cut in behind them. Fleur too looked hurried, she wore a very large satchel and she had a toddler in tow. 

“Who is this?” (Y/n) smiled at the child.    
“This is Victoire.” Fleur smiled, pulling the child forward slightly. Victoire was a messy little girl with her mother’s silvery blonde hair and her father’s freckles. 

“It’s nice to meet you Victoire!” (Y/n) said, offering her hand to the child who shook it with a shy grin. 

Fleur and Victoire took a seat and Fleur quickly took out a coloring book and a set of crayons and set them in front of Victoire who immediately went to work selecting a page to color and lining up her crayons. 

Comfortable discussion flowed and orders were taken. (Y/n) found that she fit in quite well, Hermione was eager to ask (Y/n) questions, as was Ginny. (Y/n) answered the ones that she could but when the inevitable  _ how come I don’t remember you from school  _ was asked, she directed the conversation elsewhere. Somehow it came up in conversation that (Y/n) was a singer, and Molly practically begged (Y/n) to sing her a Celestina Warbeck song. With the promise of a song another time, the conversation moved on, finally landing on weddings, and the clothes worn at them. 

“What will your dress look like?” Fleur asked,

“Oh.” (Y/n) said, “I was actually just going to wear the one I wore to Ginny’s wedding.” She said. The table fell silent. 

“I’m no fashionista but even I know that your wedding dress has to be special,” Ginny said.    
“Well, I don’t have the option.” (Y/n) said a little more gruffly than she intended. She stopped and mentally backtracked. “I mean...I just, I can’t afford it.” She eventually let out. 

Everyone looked at each other, the secret language of Weasley-Women that (Y/n) had yet to be indoctrinated to sparking between them. It went on a moment longer and was interrupted by a server bringing them the check from their brunch. 

“Well,” Molly said as they settled up the bill.

“We will all meet at my house in an hour,” Fleur said, there was a chorus of approval, and (Y/n) looked around in hopes that she might find a clue as to what was happening. 

“(Y/n), you will come with me,” Fleur said officially. (Y/n) could do little more than nod in reply. 

After everyone got up from the table everyone went their separate ways but (Y/n) followed Fleur and little Victoire to the Floo network. 

“Shell Cottage.” She was instructed to say, and so she did. 

\-----

Shell Cottage was a sweet and simple house by the sea. Victoire immediately brought (Y/n) to her playroom, and although (Y/n) was confused as to why she was even there, she was happy to indulge the little girl and nod enthusiastically at every toy that Victoire told her about. 

There was the popping sound of someone apparating in followed shortly by two others. 

“We’re here!” Molly’s voice called into the house. 

Fleur appeared in the doorway and spoke to her daughter. 

"Joue avec tes jouets, mon amour, on va être dans ma chambre." She said, and Victoire’s little voice answered back with a "Oui maman."

“(Y/n), follow me,” Fleur said, and (Y/n) did as she was told, still completely confused. Fleur led her to what seemed to be her bedroom. It was a neat and tidy room of white and grey, and the beachy sunlight streamed through the windows. Molly, Ginny, and Hermione all stood by the bed, each piling dresses onto the already decent-sized pile of them. There were dresses of almost every style and color and (Y/n) suddenly knew exactly what they were doing. 

“Oh, really, you don’t have to, it will be alright.” She said,

“Nonsense, dear girl!” Molly said as she picked up a dress that Hermione had just put down on the bed, a pink one with fluttering layers, and shoved it into (Y/n)’s hands. “Go on,” Molly said as if she expected (Y/n) to change right there in front of them. 

“You can change in my closet (Y/n),” Fleur said with a slight laugh that let (Y/n) know she must have made a face at the prospect of disrobing in front of her soon-to-be sisters and mother-in-law. 

(Y/n) entered the closet and shut the door. She removed her clothes and put the dress on. The silky fabric felt heavenly as it slid up her body. She couldn’t zip it on her own, so she simply held the back together to the best of her abilities and walked out of the closet. 

“Oh, it’s lovely,” Molly said with a clap of her hands. Fleur immediately went to zip the dress, simultaneously waving her wand to transfigure it into a perfect fit. (Y/n) let herself be moved in front of a mirror and had to admit this dress was something else. Floaty layers of chiffon in pinks and purples, contrasted against the tight pinkish bodice, more chiffon delicately covering the shoulders. 

“We can transfigure it white or ivory,” Fleur mused, tying the purple sash attached to the dress about the waist. 

“...add some beading on the layers,” Molly continued, 

“...swap the sash out for a beaded belt, ” Ginny supplied, 

“It’ll be lovely with a cathedral-length veil!” Fleur interjected, with a single clap of the hands. They certainly painted a lovely picture, and the dress was truly stunning. 

“Wouldn’t it be a bit formal for a Ministry wedding?” Hermione, ever the pragmatist grasped her chin in thought. 

“What do you think, (Y/n)?” Ginny asked,

“It truly is lovely, and I’m sure it’d be stunning with all of the modifications, but I think Hermione’s right.” They all nodded in agreement, as if they already knew that as well, although Fleur and Molly looked like they had been hoping she’d decide to wear it anyways. 

“Give this one a try,” Hermione said as she picked up a red dress from the pile and gave it to (Y/n), who did as she was told. When she emerged from the closet, red dress hanging open at the back and the pink dress in her hands, Fleur took the pink dress and Molly quickly did the same as Fleur had done last time, zipping the red dress and transfiguring it to fit all in one go, though Molly managed it wandlessly. Once again (Y/n) was shoved in front of the mirror. This dress was sleeveless, it had a scoop-neck, and some little flourishes on the soft tulle of the skirt. 

“This one might be too casual,” Molly said. 

“Transfigured white?” Fleur supplied, 

“Maybe transfigured to be longer too, tea length,” Hermione said, 

“I’m not a fan of the scoop neck on myself.” (Y/n) said with a grimace. The group of women seemed to stop and look for a moment at how the smooth bodice seemed to press awkwardly at her bust, despite being transfigured. It forced much of her boobs up and out, but not in a good way. 

“Yeah, it does nothing for your tits,” Ginny said, warranting a smack from Molly. 

“It is simply not your cut, don’t worry we have plenty to go,” Fleur said, and (Y/n) nodded. 

“Ah I have it!” Fleur said with a smile, picking up a long tulle dress in a powdery blue with white flowers embroidered at the lower half of the bodice, the top of the skirt, and along the neckline. 

“This was my Beuxbatons commencement gown!” She smiled. “I have a good feeling about it.” 

(Y/n) was once again shoved into the closet. She changed quickly and when she returned the red dress was whisked out of her hands and she was placed in front of the mirror. Molly worked her magic once more, zipping and transfiguring. 

“Pay attention to the cut,” Fleur told (Y/n).

“Okay,” she replied and did as she was told. It was  _ incredibly  _ flattering. Floaty soft tulle was ruched at the bust and waist to hug and accentuate curves. She looked like a  _ bombshell.  _ The neckline was daringly low, showing off what the prior dress had failed to. The nipped waist and slight fullness of the skirt created a smaller-looking waist that contrasted with the boosted bust that the dress also provided. 

“It’s amazing.” (Y/n) breathed. 

“Shall we begin?” Fleur asked, and the energy in the room changed. 

Suddenly every witch in the room, save for (Y/n), had a wand in her hand and a purpose. 

Molly shortened the dress so that it hit mid-calf, while at the same moment Fleur took the liberty of turning the color of the dress to a lovely antiqued ivory. 

“What color for the flowers?” Fleur asked everyone in the room As Hermione brought her pink dress back over. 

“The pink was stunning on her, the sleeves were also lovely, not to mention more appropriate.” 

Molly turned the flowers on the dress a lovely light pink that stood out against the ivory, as Hermione set the pink dress down, removed the fluttery sleeves, and placed them onto (Y/n)’s shoulders, transfiguring them to match the ivory color en-route. Ginny, whom (Y/n) hadn’t even realized had left the room, appeared in the doorway with a sewing box in her hand. With a wave of her wand a needle and thread came over to her and went to work carefully attaching the sleeves to the formerly sleeveless dress. 

“Do you like sparkle?” Molly asked with a hopeful grin. 

“A little,” (Y/n) laughed. Molly waved her wand at the sewing box and tiny crystal beads came marching through the air. They placed themselves subtly all over the dress and several more needles with thread went to work fastening them in place. 

Fleur looked at the dress like an artist appraising a subject. She let out a contemplative “hmm,” before waving her wand again and suddenly the little pink embroidered flowers on the dress were accented with petite green leaves. As the needle and thread finished their task Hermione took the sash from the pink dress and transfigured it to a lighter shade of pink, closer to the flowers on the dress, but not quite matching. She tied it at (Y/n)‘a waist, with the bow at the back as Fleur emerged from the closet with a pair of ivory satin kitten heels. She placed them in front of (Y/n) and transfigured them to her size as (Y/n) stepped into them. Molly waved her wand and (Y/n)’s hair twisted itself into a quick updo. A random pair of earrings were taken from Fleur’s dressing table, placed on (Y/n), and the commotion stopped. 

(Y/n) was speechless. The dress was just the right amount of formal yet casual. The tea-length and matching shoes gave a fun vintage vibe that kept things from getting too formal, but the delicate embroidery, the shimmering crystals, and the fluttering layers of tulle added something extra. It was perfect. 

“You look lovely my dear.” Molly smiled.

“Thank you all so much...it’s more than I could have ever hoped for...all of it. Not just the dress.” (Y/n) smiled back. At that moment (Y/n) noticed the sapphires sparkling on Hermione and Fleur’s fingers...sisters to her own. Fleur’s was flanked by two perfectly symmetrical diamonds and was set in white gold, and Hermione’s was solitaire on a delicate gold band. Ginny was toying with a single sapphire on a chain at her neck, and Molly’s hand was over her heart, right next to a flower pendant, most of the mountings of which were empty, with two blue stones remaining. 

Mother and daughters. 

\----

Thursday night (Y/n) lay awake in her bed. She decided that since it would be her last night in her childhood home, that it only made sense for her to spend it in her childhood bed instead of the sofa. Everything was packed, and tomorrow while she got ready to get  _ married,  _ Bill and Charlie would move her things (and Wishbone) to George’s flat. 

Her dress hung on the door to her empty closet and a suitcase of essentials sat on the floor near it. 

Despite knowing it would be the last time, she still hated sleeping alone. Wishbone was laying at the foot of the bed snoring, so comfort from Wizard’s (supposed) Best Friend was out of the question. 

She toyed with the back of her ring with her thumb and looked at it, reminding herself that this was real, and this really was the last night she would ever have to be lonely. 

Despite this, she still reverted to her old comfort, laying flat in her bed, without much thought or effort, she sang. 

_ Goodnight my someone, goodnight my love. Sleep tight my someone, sleep tight my love.  _

_ Our Star is shining its brightest light, now goodnight my love, now goodnight… _

A song she’d known since she was little, from a muggle movie her Gran had liked. It had a simple melody that felt comforting to the ears and the voice. 

_ Sweet dreams be yours dear, if dreams there be. Sweet dreams to carry you close to me, I wish they may and I wish they might, now goodnight my someone, goodnight… _

She’s begun a nightly routine of singing this after she finished school and came back to an empty house. She’d been so lonely that it ached, and the lack of need to talk and the lack of noise got to her, so she filled the air with sweet music, this song always at the forefront of her mind. 

_ True love can be whispered, from heart to heart when lovers are parted, they say.  _

_ But I must depend on a wish and a star, as long as my heart, doesn’t know who you are… _

She smiled to herself at that line...for the first time in her life, it wasn’t true. She  _ did _ have someone. 

_ Sweet dreams be yours dear, if dreams there be, sweet dreams to carry you close to me, I wish they may and I wish they might… now goodnight, my someone, goodnight.  _

——-

Miles away, lying in the bed he would tomorrow share, George couldn’t help the feeling that she was singing, and that she was singing for him. 

He drifted to sleep with that thought on his mind and her name on his lips. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. A lot of stuff has happened that just totally soured my mood for this fic, the least of which is the Texas winter storms and blackouts which I am dead in the middle of.  
> This fic is NOT abandoned, I love it and I have some surprises in store that I am pretty psyched to share...  
> That being said, the chapters from here out will be pretty fluffy and happy which is why I'm not writing...everything I write right now comes out angsty.  
> I really fell off the wagon when an ex of mine (we are still friends though) reached out to me to tell me that she is dying. So yeah. Complicated feelings there. Can't really write happy stuff with that. Figured through that I would give you guys the remaining chapter that I have prepared.  
> I drew the dress that is described in this chapter but I really don't want to post it on my Instagram... it is a pretty crappy rendering, HOWEVER, if you are still curious feel free to shoot me a message on insta. My insta is the same as my username here, I'd be totally happy to show yall on DMs. Also I'm always up for a chat.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Instagram with the same username!  
> Leave a comment here or come say hi there! I feed off of positive reinforcement!


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